


Constellations in the Streetlights

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: Dog(s), Domestic, Established Relationship, F/M, Fic, M/M, Multi, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-05
Updated: 2011-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-17 15:52:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal takes Satchmo for a walk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constellations in the Streetlights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ursula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ursula/gifts).



> Big thanks to dragonfly and mergatrude for beta, and to deepbluemermaid for checking my Italian. <3

Neal can't stay over with Peter and Elizabeth as much as they'd all like, because of his tracker, but now and then they sneak it through under the pretext of working late, and Neal loves it. He loves the easy conversation over dinner, the gentle teasing and, yes, the sex (though they manage _that_ more than just once or twice a month). And there's nothing better than waking up in their really-too-small-for-three bed, caught between Peter's morning breath and Elizabeth's light snores, a little sweaty (because Peter's like a furnace and Elizabeth can't sleep with less than three blankets, even in mid-summer), clinging to the last remnants of sleep because they've always stayed up too late the night before, but still loving both of them so hard that it's like a physical ache in his chest.

The whole thing, from hi-honey-we're-home kisses to I-love-you-have-a-good-day the next morning, makes Neal feel like he finally has a real home, a place to belong. But it's also, sometimes, a little claustrophobic. Like now, with Peter watching the game and Elizabeth on the phone to her mom, Neal can't settle. He misses the terrace at June's place, showing him the city, giving the illusion that he could fly away any time the mood strikes.

He sits on the arm of the couch next to Peter and leans sideways to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I'm taking Satchmo out."

"Everything okay?" Peter turns his head, but his eyes are glued to the screen and there's a lag before his gaze follows.

Neal grins at him. They're so _married_ , the three of them. "Everything's great."

Peter nods and gives in to the lure of televised sports. A second later, his gaze focuses on Neal, narrowing in silent suspicion. He covers quickly, but it makes Neal roll his eyes anyway.

"Would you relax?" Neal squeezes Peter's shoulder, then goes to the laundry for Satch's leash and a plastic bag. When he turns around, Satchmo's sitting right behind him, tail thumping the floor like a carpet beater.

Neal hitches him to his leash, waves to Elizabeth, who waves back, and he and Satchmo escape out the back door into the late evening. The air is cool and still, the sky is a high deep blue fading to azure at the horizon, and Neal can make out a couple of stars despite the city lights. At the end of the block, just past the entrance to the subway station, a group of people are standing outside the local bar, talking loudly and smoking. Neal and Satchmo head in the other direction.

(Sometimes Neal goes and has an illicit cigarette with the people outside the bar, makes up stories about his life for their amusement and exchanges Teutonic pleasantries with the German couple who live around the corner, but that's not much fun for Satchmo, so mostly they take the slow, quiet route up the hill, past town houses and brownstones, the corner store, the laundromat, the landscape design showroom, across the road to the park.)

Satchmo stops at every third or fourth lamppost, and Neal pretends he's on his way to execute a daring heist and Satchmo is part of his cover. It would be so easy to break into some of these houses, to give them a quick once-over and take anything of real value. But there are so many reasons not to, now, and even when Neal was living that life, he didn't prey on people who had to work to keep a roof over their heads. (He glosses over the fact that he mostly didn't prey on them because they mostly didn't have anything worth taking; in the back of his mind, he can _hear_ Mozzie raising his eyebrows.)

Satchmo tugs on his leash and gives a low whine, and Neal straightens his hat and lengthens his stride. "What is it, boy?"

Maybe there's a squirrel or a raccoon lurking in the shadows, but he can't see any sign. A car passes, and there's an old guy across the street taking out his trash, but otherwise the world seems deserted. But Satchmo tows Neal past the entrance to the park and across another road, clearly intent on something, and if they go much farther, the Marshals will call Peter and Neal will have to spend the next week apologizing and being careful, reassuring Peter that he's not going to do anything stupid and jeopardize what they have. He tries to steer Satch back towards their usual stomping ground, but Satchmo's determined and Neal doesn't have the heart to impose a radius on the dog. He knows how those can chafe.

Luckily, Satchmo's goal is nearby. It's a townhouse with a small courtyard out front, boasting two bushes thick with old-fashioned roses. Satchmo presses his nose through the bars of the elegant wrought-iron fence, and a comically furry face emerges from behind the bush and barks excitedly.

Neal leans against the fence and smiles down. "Hey, there! Satch, aren't you going to introduce me?"

" _Buona sera_ ," says a voice, and Neal takes a step to the side and sees that behind the rosebush, a woman is sitting on the stoop drinking a cup of coffee. She leans forward so she can see around the rosebush and adds in heavily accented English, "Good-evening, Satchmo."

" _Buona sera, signora_ ," says Neal.

She's an older woman with strong features, thick slanting eyebrows and a wide mouth. Her hair is pulled back, she has a cardigan pulled tight around her and she's wearing a wedding ring. She looks up at him with undisguised curiosity. "You must know the Burkes?"

Satchmo's straining to get through the fence, and Neal bends to try and calm him a little, using him as a distraction, but Satchmo is too busy greeting the other dog and barely notices. Neal looks up. "You know Peter and Elizabeth?"

"Fellini and Satchmo are good friends, _non è vero, ragazzi?_ " says the woman. She puts her cup on the step beside her and gestures to him. "And you, you are a friend of his people, _sì_?"

There are a lot of answers Neal could give, but he likes her, and the words that line up on his tongue are the truth. " _Sono di famiglia_ ," says Neal. _I'm family._

The woman studies him for a moment, then claps her hands smiling. "Oh, of course! You are Elizabeth's brother," she says. "I see the resemblance."

Neal hides a grin (he's definitely going to tease Elizabeth about that later) and changes the subject. "You have lovely roses."

"Won't you take some to Elizabeth for me," says the woman promptly. " _Per favore._ "

"It would be my pleasure," Neal replies, doffing his hat gallantly. He waits while she fetches pruning shears and a sheet of paper, and within minutes, he's holding a simple bouquet of fragrant roses. "She'll love them. _Grazie mille._ "

The woman shrugs that off and picks up her cup. "Fellini, time to come inside. A pleasure to meet you, Signor—"

"Neal," says Neal, because there's no point prevaricating now. He puts his hat back on and smiles innocently. " _Arrivederci._ "

   


* * *

   
It's properly dark when Neal and Satchmo get home. Neal fills Satchmo's water bowl, hangs up his leash and goes into the living room, where Peter and Elizabeth are watching the evening news. He sits down in the small space next to Elizabeth and presents her with the roses. "From Fellini's owner."

"Mrs. Romano?" Elizabeth's eyes widen. "How did you—?"

"Satchmo introduced us," said Neal. "Not my fault. And for the record, she thinks I'm your brother."

Peter blinks, then snorts and shakes his head. "You know her daughter works for the UN. Tell me you didn't con her."

"Out of a handful of roses?" asks Elizabeth. Peter sends her a wryly exasperated look, which makes her laugh. "Quick, honey! Call the FBI's Horticultural Unit!"

"I didn't lie to her." Neal rests his arm along the back of the couch and brushes the back of Peter's neck with his fingers. Elizabeth presses up against his side on the crowded couch, and it feels warm and cozy. There's no sense of claustrophobia now and nowhere he'd rather be. "I said I was family. She leaped to the wrong conclusion."

"And you didn't correct her," says Peter, but he's smiling. "It's fine. We'll sort it out."

"And anyway, you are," says Elizabeth, and she kisses him softly. "Family."

"But not your brother," says Neal wickedly, making her laugh again.

"I certainly hope not." She turns in her seat and cups his cheek with her hand. "Aw, you're cold. You want some cocoa?" The glint in her eye belies the demure suggestion.

Over Elizabeth's shoulder, Neal meets Peter's gaze, and the connection is sudden and electric, even now after all these months. Neal winks at him, leans forward and murmurs in Elizabeth's ear, "That depends on what else is on offer."

Which makes Peter lean in too, close enough that Neal can feel the words as puffs of breath on his face. "Why don't you come upstairs and find out."

Which is, in itself, an offer Neal can't refuse.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Constellations in the Streetlights](https://archiveofourown.org/works/783956) by [kalakirya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalakirya/pseuds/kalakirya)




End file.
